


Tumblr Prompts - Hetalia

by bonzai_bunny



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [16]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Biting, Ficlet, Fisting, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 06:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonzai_bunny/pseuds/bonzai_bunny
Summary: A handful of requests that were posted on Tumblr.





	1. FrUS - fluff

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is just fluff but everything after it is smut.

Okay, so we all know America loves eating. He knows it, you know it, and the whole world knows it. It’s a fact of life like the sky is blue, or superheroes are totally awesome. And while he did really  _really_  love food, America would never say that he was only with France because of his food (and he would especially never say that to his face because, can you say sleeping on the couch?) because there were totally other awesome reasons that he was with France that weren’t insanely shallow.

Case in point, he loved how when they were lying in bed together, before they went to sleep, France would wrap his arms around America’s torso and would nudge his nose against the nape of America’s neck, tickling the hairs there and then he would say something in French, something no doubt silly and romantic, and it made butterflies twist and turn in America’s tummy every single time.

So yeah, there was that. But America knew something about France that most other people didn’t know: when France was angry, he cooked. Like, he cooked  _a lot_. And when he was doubly pissed, this turned especially into baking and there would be so much food that looked so delicious that America couldn’t even pronounce. So America might sometimes,

Perhaps

_Maybe_

Occasionally pick a fight with France because it was a surefire way to get all the food he could have ever wanted. Plus, the makeup sex could be pretty awesome too, if America worked hard enough for it.

But this time, France wasn’t mad at him.

America could tell that France was angry, though, as soon as he walked into France’s apartment. The air was rich with the smell of sweets and something a bit savory as well. When he came into the kitchen, lo and behold, France was furiously chopping apples on his cutting board and the kitchen table was already covered with some sort of soup, two tarts, and some pastries.

“Hello, Alfred, dinner will be ready in an hour or so,” France said stiffly without looking up.

America sighed and wrapped his arms around his lover’s body and murmured against his neck,

“What’s wrong, babe?”

France at least relaxed a little, but did not cease his manic chopping. “New department head. Prejudiced bastard. Heard rumors about my sex life—before you, cher—thinks that all I am is a pretty face and a nice ass to fuck, that I can’t help with my own nation’s finances. Ugh.”

America frowned, felt himself growing a little resentful at this unnamed person who was causing his lover trouble (and at those remarks—they kind of made him want to punch unnamed person in the face).

“He hasn’t—he hasn’t touched you, has he?”

France turned around sharply at America, wide-eyed.

“Non—no!  _Never_. He just, he likes shooting down my suggestions, ignoring me. Making homophobic remarks. It’s a shame he doesn’t know who I am.”

“Why don’t you just get him fired?”

France sighed, “Because he is the most competent department head we’ve had in years and I don’t want to mess this up for my people.”

America nodded sympathetically with a hum, but his attentions had turned to a bowl that had some sort of batter in it (it looked chocolate) and he was suddenly struck with an idea.

“Hey, come on,” He gently tugged France away from the counter, letting France drop the knife, and picked up the bowl and led him to the leather couch in France’s chic living room. He sat France down on his lap (he was glad to see the other smile and snuggle against him) and dipped two fingers in the batter. Then he brought the fingers to France’s mouth, which remained firmly closed until he said,

“I am not eating the batter that is unsanitary. I could get sick.”

America rolled his eyes. “You won’t get sick. Here, I’ll eat it then,” he said and pushed his fingers into his mouth, feeling pretty awesome about that decision because chocolate batter was almost even better than chocolate cake. France stared at him briefly before dipping a finger into the bowl and smearing it against America’s nose with a grin.

“Oh, it’s on!” America cried.

They were too busy laughing to do any real damage to each other, though France’s left check was smeared in chocolate as was America’s forehead. With a sigh, France settled back against America’s chest, finally licking the batter off of his fingers.

“It is not bad,” he agreed, and America kissed the cheek that didn’t have batter on it.

“Do you feel a little better?” America asked and France nodded.

“Yes, but I still wish I could get rid of Moreau.”

“I could scare ‘em for you, if you’d like?”

And France smiled that self-satisfied smile that usually meant that someone was going to be on the end of France’s wrath and America was glad that, for once, he wasn’t on the receiving end of it.

“Thank you cher. But I really must get back to the kitchen before my food burns.”

America pouted, sad they weren’t going to have their sexy food time after all, but when he released France, the other turned to him and smiled,

“After dinner, perhaps. We can play with our food then.”

America grinned. That was as good as a promise as any and he followed France eagerly back to the kitchen.

Hell yeah, he loved whenever France got angry.


	2. CanUK - fisting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CanUK - fisting/drunk sex

Perhaps they were a bit drunk. Canada’s kisses and thrusts were far more sloppy than usual and the way England had fallen onto the kitchen table without an ounce of protest probably spoke more of their intoxication than their flushed cheeks and the mild slur of their words. They didn’t fuck like this often:  raw, uninhibited, and in a place without a locked door. Canada liked it though, it was different and new, and after what seemed like eternity, he came hard into the other, accidently leaving his partner high and dry.

“Eh, sorry …” He winced apologetically when he pulled out, soft, while England’s prick was still hard. England waved off his apologies and moved his hand to take care of the problem himself, but Canada pushed his hand away and said,

“N-no. I want to.”

England lay back without protest and Canada stared briefly at the man before him. His legs were still wide open, showing his used hole that still had Canada’s cum in it, and his cock was straining against his stomach, flushed and leaking. Canada licked his lips at the sight--alcohol sure made him thirsty--and he slid a finger inside of the other.

England shifted with a pleased sigh and Canada felt elated.

He had always been a little obsessed with this particular part of England and his effect on it after sex. His finger had slid in quite easily as the other was still so loose and pliable and, well, his finger wasn’t nearly as big as his cock. He pressed another finger in, hooking them up into that spot that made England spread his legs and moan.  

“D-don’t tease me now, boy …” The other said as a warning, but it lacked any real bite behind it. Canada could see how the other’s head had turned to the side, how he seemed to be forcing his breath out in even patterns (Canada was amazed he was that turned on already, but then he supposed that England had never finished). He liked being teased, the old cougar. Canada bit his lip and nodded anyway, even though the other couldn’t see him, and pressed a third finger in, utterly fascinated by how England’s body welcomed it, seemed to mold to it.

England’s hips bucked down on Canada’s three knuckle deep fingers and Canada could only think that England wasn’t full enough.

He pushed in his thumb to which there was quite a bit more resistance and England cried,

“Matthew, what are you doing?”

Canada couldn’t really come up with a solid answer so he just said, “Experimenting.” 

He moved his four fingers slightly to get England to relax more. He pressed against that spot again, stroked the sides of the other’s inner walls, and felt England go limp with a breathy moan, so he pushed in his pinky and wondered if he should use more lube for this.

“Are you alright?” He asked. England nodded and gave a harsh swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Y-yeah.”

Canada was suddenly under the impression that he probably should use more lube (he wasn’t sure how much cum made a good substitution) and pulled out each finger carefully before spreading it onto his hand liberally. England wined at the lack of heat, but Canada pushed his fingers back in carefully until all five had fit again.

Now for the toughest part.

He began to rock his hand forward a little to ease in the widest part of his hand. England gasped and clawed at the kitchen table the further he went in; these short, halting breaths escaped England’s lips as Canada finally felt England’s body open to his hand.

“Oh—God, oh god,” England whispered and Canada wondered if he should just stop now, but England’s cock was still rock hard. So he added more lube and continued pushing, stretching, waiting for England’s muscles to give. Canada told England soothing words to get him to relax, stroked his belly, and added more lube until finally Canada’s whole hand was in. Licking his lips, he wondered how full it felt for England. 

Then carefully, with more finesse than his inebriation probably allowed, Canada folded in his thumb and the rest of his fingers, wondering if England’s mostly silence up until that point was a good thing. He could hear the other’s labored breaths, pants, and gasps, but that was it. Was he okay? England had his eyes shut, his cheek pressed against the table where there were visible scratches from his nails and Canada trusted the other enough to forsake his pride if he truly had a problem with this. He kissed England’s knee, hoping that wasn’t the case.

But then again, England’s cock hadn’t softened yet.

When Canada finally got his hand into a fist, he rocked it forward a little, edging a little at a time and England squirmed and thrashed around it. He could feel England’s body give until it felt like all of the other was sucking his hand in. Then he gently thrust forward when it felt finally ready and—that did it, England tossed his head aside with a moan. And that was the most encouraging thing to happen so far. Canada did it again, working up a slow, careful rhythm, as his fist went deeper and deeper and he felt England’s body suck in his hand more and more until he was wrist deep.

England was still holding onto the table, shaking, gasping, and groaning as tears rolled down his flush cheeks and Canada wanted to kiss them away so badly, but he made a concerted effort to concentrate on the task at hand and gave a  _push_  that sent England arching off the table. He opened his mouth in a silent scream and Canada felt all of England’s muscles tense around him and the other was coming hard and fast.

Canada waited until he was finished and soft before slowly detracting his hand. England squirmed and gasped as he did and when he finally released the other, Canada bit his lip nervously.

“So…” He began over the sound of England’s heavy breathing, “Did you like it?”

England snapped his head towards Canada, before looking away with a bright flush, his chest still heaving for air. “It was … alright. Just bloody  _warn me_  before you do that again.”

Canada had long ago learned how to filter out what England actually meant, and the fact that he said “again” had Canada elated. He crawled forward on the table and gave the other a big sloppy kiss until England pulled away saying,

“Alright, alright! I hope you plan on buying me a new kitchen table after this.”

And Canada was so happy, he immediately agreed. 


	3. America - masturbation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America masturbates after France's advice

America sighed as he sat down on his bed, completely naked. There was a bottle of lube beside him. The room was dim, light enough to see, but dark enough to feel sated and comfortable. The nation had been stressed lately, too busy to enjoy himself, and he decided to take France’s advice to heart.

He started first with this toned, broad chest and rubbed his hand along the smooth, tan skin. He could feel the tingles of desire every time his fingers slid over one of his dusty, pink nipples (he had always been overly sensitive there) and decided to take initiative and tweak one of them. He pulled at the nub with a gasp and wished that it was a person, and that person’s mouth, laving attention to his nipples until they were red and erect.  

But he had his hands, though, and worked his nipples to this sensitive state until his cock was half-hard.

He brought his hands lower, to his rock hard abdomen, and rubbed his hands slowly, drawing closer and closer to his manhood. He stopped when his fingers brushed against the curly blonde hair below his naval and decided that it was time to lay back and continue there. He took the lubricant into his hands.

He probably squirted a little too much on them, but that was okay, he would worry about the mess later, and pressed a finger against his tiny hole. He focused on the feeling, of the digit sliding between the tight muscle, how good it was and how empty the rest of him felt in comparison. He could feel the heat around the digit, how tight he was and how his body quivered around it. He curled the finger upwards, into that spot he was very familiar with and his cock almost immediately hardened and he bit his bottom lip to keep from keening with pleasure.

His cock, thick and wanton, was throbbing with every stroke of that digit, but he knew it would get worse (better?) and shut his eyes with a gasp to concentrate. He could feel precum beginning to dribble down the head.

He pushed in another finger, giving himself more of a stretch, and when those two began to pump in and out, he moaned, feeling electric tingles of pleasure shoot from his spine to his toes, and enjoyed every bit of sensation that came his way.  He still wasn’t ready to touch his cock yet, which was straining and heavy with arousal and want.

He added a third finger and his face was flushed hot by this time, his breaths were deep and shaky. He bit his full lips until they were swollen and by the time all three fingers were moving in and out of him (knuckle deep), his strong thighs were shaking, his cock was leaking a steady stream of precum against his stomach and he knew it was time.

He wrapped a hand around his cock, not ceasing the movements of his other hand, and pumped it with the slickness of his precum. It was heavy, thick, and pulsing in his hand and pleasure reverberated through his body with ever stroke. He pushed his fingers in as far as they would go and dug his heels into the bed sheet, so close he could almost taste it, so close it hurt.

His body shook down to the bones and seized up, squeezing around his fingers, and with a high-pitched keen, he came.  His cum spurted over his stomach and hand, but he kept stroking to even out the waves of pleasure.

He finally pulled his fingers and hand away and lay down on the bed, absolutely satisfied. He felt light-headed and sleepy and made a mental note the call France to thank him as soon as he woke up. 


	4. USUK - biting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> USUK - biting kink

Sometimes, America’s big mouth wasn’t necessarily a bad thing and England had found, with delight, over the years just how much a kink the other had for using it. England supposed he should have noticed it sooner; when America was a lad, he used to put all sorts of things into his mouth, was always chewing on his nails and biting his lips. The nail and lip biting had stayed through adulthood, only it was now accompanied with pen caps and ridiculous amounts of food as well as—um, more adult objects.

This naturally popped up in the bedroom quite often (America could hardly even get off without using his mouth) which led to many lazy, slow kisses where America would devour England’s mouth and steal his breath away. It was during one of those kisses that America had accidently bit down on England’s bottom lip and oh—his hips had arched, his toes had curled, his face had gone flush. America had looked down at him, grinning, and proceeded with experimenting on where England liked to be bitten the most and it provided quite fruitful results.

 Now they were tangled together on America’s old couch, America’s teeth firmly sunk into his neck, one of the places he was most sensitive and England would have to wear a turtleneck around his PM for the next few days but he didn’t even care. His shirt had been torn open and he lay underneath America, squirming, half-hard, and panting. He arched his back when America bit down on his shoulder, leaving more delicious marks and bruises.

 “A-Alfred!” He gasped, trying to get the other to stop teasing him, when America’s teeth nipped at his pert nipples. That didn’t seem to stop the other at all and America backed up to pull down England’s trousers and underpants, leaving the England’s arousal exposed to the air, causing him to suck in a breath.

America grinned and bit down on the junction between England’s leg and hip before moving to England’s smooth upper thighs, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin. Heat blossomed at the spots, through his body, and England squirmed with a groan, feeling his cock throb, wishing he would stop being teased.

(But that would always be his excuse; he loved it and he knew if he truly wanted to stop it he could)

America left a trail of bite marks down his thigh that would surely leave bruises in the morning and England grasped at the cushions of the sofa helplessly when America suddenly moved forward and licked his cock.

England wished more than anything he could slap the cheeky expression off of America’s face.

America bent his head lower to engulf the head of England’s cock and—oh, he was certainly glad that America put so much into his mouth all the time. The other teased the slit with his tongue, licking up the beads of precum forming before swallowing all of England’s dick in one smooth motion and England arched off of the couch, groaning.

America shut his eyes, his cheeks flush and looking deliciously full with cock, and began to bob his head up and down, moaning himself as England’s cock slid in and out of his throat.

This—this, England would never tire of. He tried to ignore the warmth pulling in his gut to enjoy the show, tried to ignore how hot and tight and slick America’s throat was, but it was impossible and England knew this would be over too soon if he didn’t do anything.

He pushed down on America’s shoulders (almost whining at the absence of heat, but no, he wanted this good for the both of them) and when America looked up, confused, he gasped,

“W-want to touch you. Don’t wanna come now.”

America smiled endearingly and moved forward to capture England in another slow, sloppy kiss as he unzipped his trousers and pulled out his completely hard cock. Their cocks slid together briefly, causing fire to clash in both of their veins, slickened with saliva and precum, until England got his bearings and grasped the length in his hand. It was heavy and hot and America bucked his hips with a groan before biting England’s neck again, stroking the other’s cock in rhythm with his own.   

America’s hand was large and callused and felt completely different, yet natural at the same time. It was so hot, England felt like he could burst at any moment and they kept stroking, pumping and gasping and England felt like his veins would explode with heat at any moment.

It was like a whole new wave of arousal struck England with that biting and with his cock in America’s hand and when America bit down on a particularly sensitive spot, the heat tugging in his gut was too much and his hips bucked as he spilt his seed all over his stomach and America’s hand.

 Euphoria made him feel sated, but he kept stroking America, with perhaps a bit of a lazy flair. Then America tried to shoot him a cocky grin, even as he gasped and his cheeks stayed red.

“Ah, England … you look so hot touching me like this.”

England smirked and pressed his thumb into the slit of America’s head, causing the other to gasp.

 “Really now?”

 “Y-yeah … I want to fuck—”

England tugged on him and America groaned to England’s satisfaction. He was close, that much was obvious, and England brought his other hand down to stroke America’s balls as he pumped the other with a little more effort and in no time, America was coming on to England’s bare stomach.

After they lay there for a while, America gasping, still riding the euphoria, England stroked America’s hair and asked,

“You said something about fucking?” In the most casual voice he could muster and America leaned in to give him another kiss.

“Hell yeah,” he grinned and England thought it was rather fortunate that there were probably many more kinks for each other to discover. 


End file.
